


Two Christmases and a Funeral

by ScarletRaven1001



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Vegebul - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Comedy, F/M, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, inspired by a tweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletRaven1001/pseuds/ScarletRaven1001
Summary: Spending her first Christmas away from home, Bulla Briefs is understandably feeling quite lonely. However, a surprise video call from her mother, Bulma, lets Bulla in on a little secret on how her parents had met on a strange Christmas day, and suddenly, her rather depressing Christmas eve had become a lot more exciting.
Relationships: Bulma Briefs/Vegeta
Comments: 42
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!  
> I've been super inactive for a long time, but I just ran across a hilarious tweet that inspired me to write this really quick fic! This chapter is a quick intro as this fic will be a two-shot, and I am finishing the second chapter right freaking now, lol!  
> I hope you like it!  
> Merry Christmas! 💕

Note: This was inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/Coll3enG/status/1341891376200486913). Merry Christmas, everyone!

8-8-8-8-8

Two Christmases and a Funeral

8-8-8-8-8

Bulla Briefs had always loved Christmas when she was younger.

As an adult living alone in an apartment far from her family, however, she was starting to grumpily begin to feel like such holidays were nothing more than over-commercialized consumerist nonsense, and she found herself resenting the noisy carols ringing all around.

Then again, maybe she was just bitter.

She was stuck in her solo flat in a foreign country due to a work-related assignment, far from the warmth of her family home, desperately missing their incessant but cheerful chatter. She was even beginning to miss _Trunks,_ her near insufferable elder brother, and _that_ alone should say _something_ about how much she would much rather go back to Japan.

Being an adult sucked.

She looked at the clock, knowing fully well that the Christmas eve celebrations were about to begin back home. A heavy sigh left her as she placed her phone face down on her desk, ready to go to sleep instead of deal with the crushing loneliness that came from being away from everybody she loved on such a huge occasion.

She had barely closed her eyes when her phone began to ring, its tune much too lively for her mood. She picked it up, surprised to find an incoming video call from her mother.

She quickly accepted the call, running a hand over her face before she reached up to click on her bedside lamp for a bit of light.

“Hey, mama!” she called as brightly as she could, even while a large lump caught in her throat at the sight of her mother’s grinning face.

“Hi baby!” Bulma Briefs damn near yelled, waving enthusiastically at her through the camera. “How are you? I miss you!”

“I miss you too, Mama. You and Papa,” she said, happy to see her mother even though it was only through a little screen.

“Why is it so dark in there?? Are you going to sleep?”

“Yeah, mama. I was just about to-”

“Why are you _sleeping_ on Christmas eve?! It’s like, 8pm there, right? You should be out having fun!”

Bulla scoffed, a gesture she had unfortunately inherited from her father. “It’s not like I have anyone to celebrate with here.”

“You haven’t made any friends?” her mother asked, face genuinely concerned.

Bulla was just about to say _no,_ when she watched her mother’s face morph into a mischievous smirk, and she groaned, knowing exactly what was coming.

“Mama-”

“No _boyfriend?_ ” Bulma asked, and Bulla let out a full-blown groan.

“Mama, I’ve been here for like, two months,” she bit out, “for _work._ I haven’t exactly had the time to look around for places to meet guys.”

“Nonsense,” Bulma said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Guys are literally everywhere! You just need to get a bit more creative.”

Bulla stared. “Mama, are you drunk? Coz you are _not_ encouraging your own daughter to hoe around, surely.”

“You sound like your father,” Bulma laughed. “And no, I am _not_ drunk, thank you very much. I’m just saying you shouldn’t coop yourself up in there when you could be out being merry!”

“Mama, seriously, it will be impossible to meet a guy in just any random place-”

“I went to a random funeral because I was bored, and that’s how I met your father.”

Bulla swore that her brain shut down for a couple of seconds.

She blinked heavily, once, twice; hoping that would be enough to restart her mental functions.

It was not.

“Wait, what?” she finally asked, silently congratulating herself for being able to speak at all.

“Oh, I never told you about how your Papa and I met?”

‘ _No, mother. No, you did not.’_

“No!” Bulla squealed. “Seriously? You met Papa at a funeral? A _funeral?!”_

“A _random_ funeral! On Christmas day!” Bulma emphasized proudly. “I know whose funeral it had been by _now,_ but it was completely random at the time.”

“Mama,” Bulla whispered, lifting a hand up to poke softly at the center of her forehead. She might be coming down with a migraine, now. “Are you serious?”

“Of course!” Bulma said. “Since you’re just there being a loner – something you _clearly_ got from your Papa, by the way – do you wanna hear the story? It’s pretty entertaining, I promise.”

Bulla sighed in disbelief, a small grin spreading over her face as she watched her mother’s smile widen even more, blue eyes that she knew to be the exact ones on her own face twinkling in delighted anticipation.

Bulma loved telling stories, as much as Bulla loved listening, and she straightened, reaching over to her lamp again to increase the brightness.

This was gonna be a much longer video call than she originally expected.

“Sure,” Bulla said. “If you’ve got time to tell me the story, I’d love to hear it!”

“Oh, of course, I have time for you, baby,” Bulma laughed. “Sit tight! This is gonna be _fun.”_

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma tells Bulla the story, and it was simultaneously everything and nothing like Bulla would have ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the second chapter! Thanks so much to everyone who checked out the short prologue I posted yesterday, and I hope you all like this fun conclusion to my little Vegebul Christmas fic!
> 
> Also, a quick note: You may notice that the celebrations depicted in this fic happen during Christmas eve, rather than Christmas day. I based this off some notes on the internet that states that Japan tends to celebrate more on Christmas eve than the actual day, and also because I'm pulling some ideas off of our own practices in the Philippines, as well! 🥰

Bulla blinked as her mother smirked, a fond glint in her eyes.

“So, there I was, single and bored out of my mind, early Christmas morning…”

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma didn’t even know how she got there, but all she could do was blink in confusion as she found herself standing in front of a large, white building – it was almost completely nondescript, if not for the hearse that was parked primly at the far end of the narrow parking lot.

She had just gone out for a quick walk around the block, trying in vain to escape what was possibly the three hundredth replay of _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ that was blasting through her flat neighbor’s irritatingly loud speakers. For some reason, her legs had carried her much farther than they normally did, and now her bright red sneakers tapped impatiently upon the smooth walkway leading into what she now knew for certain was a funeral home.

She could hear the loud, crying noises coming in from one of the open halls, could see the agonized faces of those who had clearly lost a loved one.

However, the hall right across seemed much, much quieter.

At the end of the hall, she could see a single coffin, flanked by two very large flower arrangements. Bulma squinted, noting that the quieter hall must have had only three – five, _tops_ – mourners, all dressed in typical black suits, sitting on chairs that faced away from the entrance.

It must have been rather depressing, she thought, having a near empty funeral hall, when the one right across yours was so full of weeping people mourning _their_ departed family member.

Maybe she could pop in? They sure looked like they would appreciate another set of condolences.

8-8-8-8-8

“I felt sorry for them, ok?” Bulma said. “They had no visitors, and the other hall was _overflowing._ I was thinking, if I was the one who was dead and nobody bothered to visit, I would be _pissed.”_

Bulla rolled her eyes as Bulma resumed her story.

8-8-8-8-8

She walked into the hall, straightening her dark green dress and pushing back her thick blue hair as she looked determinedly at the pristine wooden coffin. There really was almost no one in the place, and so she quickly found a chair, helping herself to it as she discreetly looked around the room.

There were only four men, all sitting as far away from each other as possible. They each sat near a certain corner of the room, which she found even weirder; why weren’t they all huddled closer together? Their friend or whomever had just died, and they all looked like their fellow visitors might be carrying the plague.

The man nearest to her, seated just a couple of chairs away, had his back turned to her, and Bulma peeked curiously at his thick, dark hair. It was meticulously coifed into this strange, flame-like shape that stood high atop his head. She spied a thick neck and sturdy-looking shoulders, and he seemed immersed in something on his mobile phone that made small intermittent beeping sounds.

A short burst of sound made him curse something foul, and Bulma realized that he had been playing a game and had just lost. She snickered softly, but it was apparently loud enough to catch the man’s attention.

He turned sharply to glare at her as he pocketed his phone, and in spite of the vicious frown on his face, Bulma immediately realized that she was looking at one of the most handsome men that she had ever seen.

He had narrow, ill-tempered looking dark eyes, a slim nose, and thin lips set on an angular face. High cheekbones stood out over a strong jaw, and his caramel complexion almost glowed against the black cloth of his suit jacket.

As she continued her very quick but intensely thorough scrutiny, she noted that those sturdy shoulders that she had spied earlier led to thick arms that were just barely pushing against his sleeves. He didn’t seem to be very tall, but his dress shirt was stretched _sinfully_ across his torso, and she definitely spied a chest that she would _love_ to lick with her -

8-8-8-8-8

“Mama, ewwww gross!” Bulla cried, recoiling in disgust as she watched Bulma’s eyes glaze over, the elder woman’s mind clearly wandering into territory that Bulla did _not_ want to hear about her father.

“Oh, sorry!” Bulma said, her wide grin showing that she really _was not._ “I got a bit carried away!”

“Ya think?!”

8-8-8-8-8

Ok, so maybe he wasn’t _supermodel_ handsome, but he was definitely her type.

“May. I. Help. You?” he bit out.

 _“Yes, pleeease,”_ she thought. He spoke with a deliberately enunciated inflection, in a deep voice with a slightly throaty edge that sent a little thrill up Bulma’s spine.

“Not particularly,” she answered, instead. “I just wanted to pay my respects to, uh-”

She glanced over to the coffin, realizing in retrospect that she really had no idea who the person was.

The hot guy’s brow had lifted as she looked back at him, and she dumbly spoke again, “To the _departed_.”

“Were you perhaps wanting to express your condolences to the family?” he asked.

She nodded, and the man smirked.

“Very well, you may do so,” he said. “You may begin by expressing those _condolences_ to me, seeing as I am _the departed’s_ son.”

Bulma straightened, shock and embarrassment rushing over her. She sputtered softly as she quickly stood, repeatedly bowing to the man before her as she stuttered, “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry, I didn’t know! My deepest condolences on the death of your… uh… parent.”

She had no idea if the deceased was his mother or father, after all, and Bulma could have seriously slapped herself.

When she looked back up to regard the guy again, he was grinning, his lips twisted in this _ridiculously_ attractive curve that held a slight hint of wicked intent.

She just stared back, even as he shook his head, eyes narrowing further as he watched her.

“Did you even know my father, woman?” he asked.

There would be absolutely no point in lying.

“Nope,” she shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Then why on earth are you even here?”

“I told you,” she said, moving to sit down again, but slyly sitting one seat closer to the man than previously. “I just wanted to pay my respects!”

“Yes, but _why?”_

She shrugged. “No reason. I just saw that there weren’t too many people here and I just thought that the deceased – your father, apparently – might appreciate a few more mourners.”

“Woman,” he said slowly. “He is _dead._ He will not know that no one has come to mourn him.”

“Ok, harsh,” she quipped. “I mean, _you’re_ here so obviously he’s got a few mourners.”

“I assure you, I am not mourning, either,” he hissed, and she could almost taste the venom in his tone. “My father was not a good person, and the four people you see here are all only present due to obligation.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “I’m… sorry?”

He shrugged, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned back against his chair. “There’s just me, my brother,” he gestured to the rather small young man sitting on the opposite side of the room, “and then our aides, Nappa and Raditz,” he glanced at the remaining men in the room – both very large, but one was bald while the other had an extreme overabundance of hair.

“You didn’t like him very much, huh?”

He scoffed. “I respected his wit as a businessman, but a good father, he absolutely was not.”

She giggled. “Figures that I would wander into the funeral of a random man who wasn’t very nice.”

Bulma watched as a small grin spread across the man’s lips again, and he cocked his head as he regarded her fully.

“Also figures that I would be the one who would happen to find myself in a conversation with the random woman who walked into my father’s funeral,” he shot back, mild humor lightening his tone.

“Well,” she drawled, “If you knew my name, I wouldn’t just be a _random woman_ anymore, now, would I?”

His grin positively widened into a full-on smirk, and as he moved across a chair to slide closer towards her, Bulma could swear that his gleaming eyes were definitely checking her out.

“That’s a great point, woman,” he said, before he held his right hand out. “My name’s Vegeta. Vegeta Ouji. And you are?”

With no hesitation whatsoever, Bulma reached out, clasping his large, firm hand into her smaller and much softer grasp.

She smiled. “Bulma.”

8-8-8-8-8

“And that, baby, is how I met your Papa!” Bulma ended her story with a proud grin.

“That… that’s kinda adorable,” Bulla said disbelievingly. “That was like, surprisingly wholesome.”

“Oh, it didn’t stay wholesome for long,” Bulma cackled. “I mean, I _totally_ put out on the first date-”

“ _MOTHER!”_

“-so don’t do _that,_ ok? I just got lucky that he ended up being my soulmate, after all!”

“Whose soulmate are you talking about over there, Bulma?” a distinctly male voice sounded from off camera, and Bulla perked up instantly.

“Papa!” she called out, just as the said man moved closer, until he was visible through the camera beside Bulma.

“Eschalotte,” he greeted, and Bulla rolled her eyes. Her father was absolutely the only person in the entire world who called her by her middle name.

“Mama was just telling me about how you two met!” she said.

Vegeta’s brows rose as he glanced beside him at his wife of almost thirty years. “You have never told her before?”

“No! Can you believe it? I thought I’d told her ages ago!” Bulma said.

“So, Papa,” Bulla called out. “What were you thinking when you first met Mama?”

“That she was simultaneously the single most beautiful woman that I had ever seen, and the strangest.”

“Jerk,” Bulma pouted, while Bulla burst into laughter.

“Well, we had best end this call, as we are about to begin,” Vegeta said. “Your mother is already deep into the Christmas wine, Bulma.”

“Oh, dang,” Bulma said, before she turned back to Bulla. “We gotta go, baby! Merry Christmas! And remember what I told, you, ok? Go out there and live a little!”

They said their goodbyes, and as she ended the call, Bulla smiled, and decided to get up and try to find a bit of fun, just as her mother had suggested.

She put on a coat and some warmer jeans, grabbed her purse, already pondering where she could possibly go on a night like this.

She had barely stepped out of her apartment building’s main door when she slipped over a thin puddle of water, and she flailed stupidly, knocking herself against a random guy that was passing by beside her.

“Ouch,” she cried out in her native language, rubbing her elbow slightly.

“I’m sorry!” came an answer in Japanese, and Bulla looked up in shock.

The guy she had slammed into was staring back at her in surprise, but there was no mistaking the delighted sparkle in his eyes as he regarded her.

He was… cute. Possibly seven to ten years older than her, but his face held a boyish sort of charm that made heat rush into Bulla’s cheeks as she dumbly stared back.

“You’re Japanese!” the guy exclaimed excitedly. “I haven’t run into any fellow Japanese people here in _forever!”_

“Neither have I!” she answered. “This is… pretty neat!”

“Yeah!” he answered. “What are the odds that I’d run into a random Japanese girl when I’m just on my way to the cake shop?”

Perhaps it was her mother’s story that made her do it – Bulla had never been as socially bold as Bulma – but she was seized by a powerful, strange impulse while inspiration suddenly struck.

“Well,” she muttered, “If you knew my name, I wouldn’t just be a random girl anymore, now, would I?”

The guy brightened, and he held out his hand, as large and welcoming as the smile on his face.

“My name’s Goten!” he said enthusiastically. “Yours?”

She smiled, reaching out to shake his hand. “Bulla.”

8-8-8-8-8

_The end._


End file.
